Dragon Racers: The Complete Trilogy Page 2

  “The house and stable are not all Daniol left me, dear.” Aunt Sadie’s smile faded, but Sharrah couldn’t tell if was into distaste or a saddening memory of her dead husband. “I’ll not bore you with the extent of his holdings, for they are nothing to brag about, yet enough to splurge on my favorite niece every now and then.”

  “Then why work at the bakery?” Sharrah asked, thinking that she was Sadie’s only niece.

  “If I didn’t, I would get bored. And few people know that I don’t need the wage Guotin pays us, to get by with.” Aunt Sadie smiled broadly, showing her white teeth. “It doesn’t matter. At least twice a year I attend the races. You remember last year? You couldn’t go because Guotin needed you to help his boys keep coal and water in the slicer so he could meet a contract. We’ve barely just spent what I won last year.” Her aunt grinned.

  “This year, I have a healthy wager on Sir Deren and his green wyrm to win.” She went on. “If he does best the others, we will have a handful of silvers and go to the shops along the dock and buy ourselves each a new wardrobe.”

  “I heard the angry red dragon almost always wins,” Sharrah said. “I heard one of Guotin’s boys talking about it yesterday.”

  “More often than not, he does.” Her aunt turned serious, almost conspiratorial as she leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. “Flame, they call him. He is definitely the fiercest, but I heard from Mari Kyung, whose husband works as a hunter and often visits Dragon’s Keep, where the racing wyrms are kept, that Flame and the black dragon called Char, have some sort of disagreement going. Since they can’t get at each other from their cages, Mari’s husband said they will most likely try and fight while they race tonight. Sir Deren and Glade are just as fast, and since he won’t have to contend with another wyrm while racing, I think this night he has the advantage, and the odds are nice enough at four to one.”

  “They keep them in cages?” Sharrah asked. The idea of it was unsettling.

  “They can’t let them run loose, dear. They are dragons, after all.”

  “I suppose not.” Sharrah let out a sigh. A small bit of excitement left her. She’d always pictured the dragon’s and their riders, off hunting the forests, or helping the king’s red coats, when they were not competing. Never once had she thought the revered racing dragons were kept locked in cages. “I wonder what they are fed?” She asked the question aloud, not really intending to.

  “Mari’s husband is on one of many teams of hunters who spend all their time chasing the elk and antelope herds in the northern foothills. I heard Prince Torrin himself say that they had half a score of old horse drawn wagons that constantly go back and forth between Hunter’s Hold and Dragon’s keep just to make sure the racing wyrms, and racers in training, are fed only the freshest meat.”

  “You’ve met Prince Torrin?” Sharrah asked, her pity for the caged dragons was suddenly as far away from her mind as her father. “When? What is he like? He is so dreamy.”

  “He is a looker, but far too young for me to see in that light.” Sadie chuckled. “I have met him only once, but when Daniol was alive we had special seats very near the royal pedestal and I often heard him bragging. Once he said he took a trip to Hunter’s Hold to inspect the whole process of harvesting meat for the dragons. The prince was but a boy back then. He was only telling the tale so that he could boast about a handsomely racked stag he’d killed while with the Royal Hunters.”

  Aunt Sadie paused and touched a green enameled fingernail to her chin. “He is about your age now, but don’t get your hopes up. The royals only marry other royals. That is how King Travvingto keeps growing the kingdom. A mighty Travvingto marries to secure relations and treaties with other lands, not for love, but—” Aunt Sadie put her hand on Sharrah’s knee to emphasize her next words. “The prince has an entourage of all sorts of worthy young men. I will try and talk to someone and see if we can get seated near them. Yes, dear. I think I will.”

  Sharrah was even more excited now. Not only was she about to see what the fighting women who trained outside the bakery window did, and the infamous dragon races. Now she and Aunt Sadie had a racer to cheer for, and then there was the possibility of meeting Prince Torrin Travvingto, and maybe even drawing the eye of one of his trusted men.

  Sharrah’s heart was beating so fast that she had to lean back and breathe deeply to keep from squealing with glee. It took a few moments to gather herself; the whole time Aunt Sadie was going over what to do and not do whether they were lucky enough to be seated near the royals or not. Sharrah barely heard her. She was so elated her blood was tingling.

  She had just gotten her excitement contained and put on a mask of normalcy when the carriage came to a halt and the driver called down that they’d arrived at the colosseum. He said they were third in line to be let out, and should ready themselves, for the crowd was growing rapidly.

  The carriage moved forward again and Sharrah felt it rock slightly when the driver climbed down. Then the door was opened and she saw that they were going to enter through the main doors with all the lords and ladies of the realm.

  She saw the racers standing at the top of the stairs, wearing the colors of their dragons proudly. They were right where the red carpet Sharrah and her aunt were about to ascend entered the massive structure’s open arches. They were greeting the attendees. And here came Prince Torrin, crossing the entry level, his blond locks shimmering over the shoulders of his royal attire.

  A cheer rang out off to her left, and Sharrah pressed against Aunt Sadie, who was exiting the carriage, so she could peek over and see what it was about. A score or more people who were not dressed up, were in the middle of the lane reaching for the sky. She craned her neck and saw several people, including one she thought might be the king himself, leaning over a balustrade a good distance above them all. Then the king tossed a double handful of coins out. They spread slowly apart as they fell, and when they landed, only a few chinked and clattered on the cobbles. The rest were already in the pockets of the happy folk who’d caught them.

  Just like Sadie said, Prince Torrin had a group of fancily dressed, handsome young men with him. For obvious reasons the group was circumventing the mass of people at the main entrance. The armored guards around them were all serious looking and fiercely elegant. Their black and red enameled armor gleamed in the sun. The masks they wore portrayed fierce visages and they forced the growing crowd mingling atop the stairs to part for the heir to the kingdom.

  One of the men with the prince glanced at her and his eyes met hers. He wasn’t young or attractive. He was bald headed with deep red and yellow tattoos covering his scalp. His eyes, the whole of them, were the color of fall leaves. For a long moment time seemed to stand still and Sharrah couldn’t move. It felt as if he was reaching into her mind, searching for something. His expression never changed, and Sharrah saw that he was wearing a red robe, the same velvety color of the carriage cushions. It, too, was trimmed in gold and black, and when the corner of his mouth turned up into what might have been a smile, he gave a slight nod her way, and the world went right again.

  As she stepped down, with the help of the driver, Sharrah’s heart went fluttering right back through her chest, and it was all she could do to grab onto Aunt Sadie’s arm to keep from fainting.

  Chapter Three

  They didn’t get seated where Aunt Sadie hoped, but they weren’t that far below the Royal Dais and the view of the field was excellent. Sharrah could never have imagined how massive the inside of the King’s Colosseum was. Each end of the crowd filled oval had a "U" shaped opening big enough to sail three ships through. The grassy green field below was easily three hundred paces wide and six or seven hundred long. In the middle was a dirt circle about a hundred strides in diameter. Beyond it were two rows of three tarp covered cages split by a long red carpet. Each tarp was a different color. Inside those six pens were the racing dragons, and men were coming and going from each with a purpose about them.

  “The beast brawlers will go first, and then the samura will fight in the circle while the dragons are being readied and the crowd gets their wagers in.” Aunt Sadie pointed at a gray-skinned thing easily twice as big as the men leading it. It walked on two legs, and when it was presented to the crowd, it opened its pink mouth and let out an angry growl. What surprised Sharrah most was that all of its teeth were missing. An ogre, Sharrah realized, a toothless ogre. The creature was led to the center of the dirt circle by men who each had a chain that connected to one of its shackles.

  Three well-muscled men, wearing very little armor were coming behind the group. Sharrah watched on, not sure whether to feel bad for the creature or not. Its shackles were unfastened one at a time, and a laugh spread across the crowd when it swiped at the man who’d just let its second arm free. The poor guy scrabbled out the way of the blow but tripped and fell as he went. Even from the great distance between them, Sharrah saw the whites of his wide opened, probably terror-filled eyes. Only one of the ogre’s ankles was left shackled. The chain leading from that iron band had been fastened to a thick wooden spool near the center, currently giving the ogre five strides worth of movement in any direction, ten human strides, Sharrah decided, for it was so big its gait had to be twice as big as a man’s.

  The gray beast reached down and pulled on the chain. The spool in the center clacked around giving it that much more slack.

  The three well-built men took up positions around the creature. Each wielding an oversized sword or ax. They had on steel greaves, gauntlets, and cod pieces, but little else, and Sharrah noticed that her aunt, as well as most of the other women in the arena, were staring at their well-formed, sweat-sheened, or possibly oil-rubbed bodies a little too hard.

  “What are they going to do?” Sharrah asked, forcing Aunt Sadie’s eyes away from the scene below.

  “It is an ancient custom. They are going to try and kill the beast,” her aunt said, and then stared back down at the creature. “They try and try, but it usually doesn’t go down too easily, if at all.” She glanced back at Sharrah. “This is a fresh ogre, so it might survive the contest. See,” she pointed at the thing, “it has no scars or wounds from previous fights. One ogre bested men for most of a season before it finally fell. It killed three or four of the barbarians, but the men usually get too injured to continue and crawl or get dragged out of the range of the ogre’s chain.” She turned to look at a great board where a few men were scrambling around writing numbers and symbols in chalk for all to see. “Currently, the wager board says the ogre will eliminate the three men and end the contest. If you were to wager a single copper that the barbarians will bring it down, you would win two hundred coppers.”

  “What if you wager that the ogre will defeat the three barbarians?” Sharrah asked, trying not to let the idea of it all unsettle her too much.

  “You would have to put up one hundred sixty-five coppers to win just one.” Her aunt pointed at an area where attendees were lined up near several sets of barred windows. “Those men are laying down gold by the sack full against the barbarians. They will win a handful of coins for putting their fortunes on the line.”

  “I want to put two coppers on the barbarians,” Sharrah said. “I hope they kill it fast so it doesn’t have to suffer.”

  “You’ll never win that one.” Aunt Sadie shook her head. “Save your two coppers for the samura battles. You’ve seen them spar and train, so you will have a better chance at doubling your coins when they go at it.”

  “Do they fight until one of them dies, too?” Sharrah asked.

  Aunt Sadie’s look told her she might not want to know the answer, but she explained it anyway. “They do not, but the losers are usually terribly maimed, and sometimes killed. Swords are barbaric weapons and they do nasty damage, dear. Some of the samura survive, and if they are able, they are allowed to heal, but theirs is not a desired fate. Still, it is better than those too wounded to be of use.”

  “What happens to them?”

  “They are fed to the dragon who wins the race, dear.” Aunt Sadie shrugged.

  Sharrah felt a knot of pity form in her stomach, and most of the excitement of the evening was gone. “I meant what happens to the ones who are saved?”

  “They are taken to the outposts and fringes and used to service the men stationed there. And I do mean in any and every vulgar way you can imagine. It isn’t a pleasant fate, but I guess it is better than being fed to a dragon.”

  “By the gods, this is so brutish,” Sharrah said a little louder than she intended.

  “It is, dear.” Aunt Sadie grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “But it has been this way in Kahmar since long before I or your mother came. The samuras take to their training and fight by choice. Those who win are paid handsomely and can retire from the contests any time they chose.”

  Sharrah knew now why they came and went from the training yard by the bakery so often. Knowing they chose to do what they did, knowing the cost if they lost, did little to restore her excitement, but then one of the barbarians, ran in to jab his sword at the ogre and was whacked to the side like a man shooing a cat away. Her eyes and thoughts were drawn toward the battle. As ill and uncertain as she was feeling, like the thousands gathered around her, she found she just couldn’t look away.

  She was glad she didn’t wager on the barbarians, because for a good while the three of them took turns getting pounded, tossed, and even kicked around the dirt circle until finally the ogre used one barbarian to smash another, leaving the final barbarian suddenly limping and stumbling as if he was too hurt to continue.

  The crowd booed him, but Sharrah didn’t blame him for his obvious fakery. The other two men were clearly broken, if not dead. What good would it do for him to join them.

  Chapter Four

  To the cheers and jeers of the crowd the ogre was declared the winner and finally taken away.

  The samuras were next. Six women dressed scantily enough to be attractive, while still wearing protection on their forearms, shins, and chest, entered the circle. Their faces were powdered starkly white and horrible expressions had been painted on them. They paired into three groups of two and faced off with the other woman they were partnered with. Each of them had a sash of a different color around their waist. The short skirts they wore looked to be made of strips of chain, or maybe hammered metal. Their arses were mostly revealed when they leaned forward into their fighting stance. Sharrah couldn’t tell if they had anything on underneath or not, but it was clear that their thighs were not very protected and many a man was gawking at all the exposed flesh. At least the samura had a shield strapped to one arm to protect themselves.

  A man big enough to pound any one of them silly stood in the circle watching the men writing on the boards. Due to a prominent scar on her shoulder Sharrah recognized one of the samuras. For no reason other than that she turned to her aunt. “I want to put my two coppers on the one with the blue sash.”

  “Good choice, dear.” Her aunt grinned. “You’ll only get three back if she wins, but that is because she is a favorite.” Her aunt raised her hand and called out. “Wager! Here! Wager over here!”

  One of many shave-headed men dressed in loose fitting mustard-brown robes hurried over to them. His hands came out of the folds of his garment, one with a stack of parchment, the other with a well-made charcoal pencil. He didn’t speak, but the flare of his brows let them know he was ready.

  “My niece wants to place two coppers on the blue samura.”

  “To win, lose, or feed the wyrms?” he asked.

  “To win!” Sharrah called over the crowd. She had no idea she could bet for them to lose or feed the dragons. Part of her felt wrong for making the wager, but another part of her, a more primal side she’d never felt before, was filled with excitement. She earned half a copper a day, the prospect of making a whole coin in the span of the event, was deeply thrilling, even if a woman might die for it to happen.

  The man in the robe scribbled something on the piece of parchment, took Sharrah’s two coppers and handed her the paper. “You were just in time,” he said as he hurried away to another attendee hollering. "Wager."

  “They are starting.” Aunt Sadie squeezed her thigh again and directed Sharrah’s attention to the circle where the big man’s hand went down. He eased out of the way and the women started fighting almost instantly.

  Before her eyes even had a chance to focus on the scene, one of the women went down. The samura wearing the red sash, hacked her sword into the one wearing white’s neck with a speedy blow. The poor white sashed fighter dropped her weapon, fell to the dirt, and grabbed her neck in a futile attempt to keep the life’s blood from pumping out of her. Sharrah was sickened by the way she sputtered and bucked, and then reached toward the sky with a blood covered arm, probably praying to her god. Aunt Sadie elbowed her and pointed toward the samura wearing blue, who was pressing against her yellow sashed opponent with deft precision.

  The other two women were circling each other slowly, probably wondering why they had chosen this fate. Sharrah couldn’t imagine continuing after seeing the girl in white mortally wounded so quickly.

  The blue fighter was swinging and jabbing and all her opponent could do was block and dodge the blows as they came. Then the yellow sashed girl swung out low and caught Sharrah’s fighter across the thigh. Blood washed down her leg, but she didn’t seem to notice. The blue sashed samura did slow her attack a little, but not much.

  The fighter in red held up her blade in victory when the girl in the dirt finally stilled.

  The crowd responded with cheers and boos alike, some winners, some losers of that contest.

  Sharrah’s emotions were a jumble of nauseated excitement, mixed with fear, hope, and sorrow, all at the same time.

  The blue sashed samura pressed in again, this time with her shield a little lower. Sharrah had chosen her because she had seen her in the training yard all spring and summer. She had to be one of the ones who kept winning. The way she forced the girl back and into a constant defensive stance showed her skill.